Forgiven
by hatondog
Summary: Sequel to Unforgiven. After John left his cane and Sherlock behind in TLD, this is how he decided to allow his friend back into his life. John's POV.


_Are you okay?_

 _No, no, of course I'm not okay. Malnourished, double kidney failure, and frankly I've been off my tits for weeks. What kind of doctor_ are _you?_

After his nearly successful attempt on the Sherlock's life was interrupted, Culverton Smith was slapped into handcuffs and removed from the man's hospital room. Police and hospital personnel took his place, forcing John to move into the hallway. He watched Sherlock submit to his vital signs being checked while ignoring the efforts of Greg Lestrade to question him. Finally, Sherlock waved Greg off, muttering a quiet "tomorrow" as his eyes slid closed.

John waited for Greg to make his way to the door.

"What the hell happened?" Greg demanded. "The security guard says Smith was trying to kill him. I thought Smith was some kind of philanthropist, you're telling me Sherlock was really right about him?"

John nodded. "He's a killer, all right. Had Sherlock's throat in his hands when I broke in. Sherlock says he was trying to overdose him too." John held out the small recording device that he'd removed from his walking cane where Sherlock had secured it weeks before. "It's all on here. Sherlock put this in my old walking cane and I left it in the room."

"Your cane? Why?" Greg asked.

John shrugged uncomfortably and dodged the question. "Anyway, I imagine you'll find everything you need on this."

"Did you know this was going to happen?" Greg gestured back toward Sherlock's room. "Cooked it up with him, did you? Pretty risky maneuver, I wish you two would let us professionals handle catching murderers now and then."

Hands raised, John shook his head. "I didn't have anything to do with it. This was all Sherlock—you know how he is."

"What the hell was he thinking?" asked Greg. "The doctor was saying that Sherlock was right on the edge. Christ, one of his eyes is filled with blood, looks like he was really letting Smith get away with it!"

 _What kind of doctor_ are _you?_

John shook his head as he looked over Greg's shoulder. Sherlock was on his side in the bed, looking vulnerable in his sleep. Fingertip-shaped bruises were already starting to form around his throat, but John's eyes were drawn to the one already blooming on Sherlock's jawline. John had given him that one, together with a sizable cut across his brow.

"Hell," said John quietly.

"What?" asked Greg.

"He was going to hell, for me." John's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You'll have to explain that one to me, mate. You're not making any sense. And, if you weren't part of his plan, how did you know to turn up?" Greg said, worried. "A few seconds later and it might have been too late."

John dragged his gaze back to Greg. He smiled grimly.

"Mary told me to come," he said simply, then turned and walked away.

Lying in bed that night, visions of the day's events replayed themselves for John as he stared at the ceiling.

 _Save John Watson…_ Mary's image from the DVD she'd left in Sherlock's flat rose up in his mind. _Go right into Hell, Sherlock, and make it look like you mean it…If he thinks you need him, I swear, he_ will _be there._

Sherlock's battered and bruised face swam into view.

"No, I wasn't," John said to Mary, who now appeared to be lying beside him. "I didn't come save him until you told me to do it. Shit, I even gave him a shove into that madman's path."

Mary shook her head sadly. "I'm not here, John. You went because you decided to go."

"No, I knew he was using, falling apart. Molly Hooper confirmed it, he only had weeks, she said. And what did I do? Beat the crap out of him." John sat up, agitated. "I would have left him there to rot in that hospital, never looked back, if you hadn't sent that DVD. What kind of doctor does that make me?"

"That's not the question." Mary sat up too. "What kind of _friend_ are you? I know you, John Watson, you're the very best man I've ever known. You _would_ have helped him, because he's _your_ friend."

John shook his head. "Really, I wouldn't have. I didn't. I was gone and not coming back—Sherlock would be dead now too. You trusted _me_ to save _him_ , and I nearly failed you both."

"But you didn't, did you? He's alive and now the question is: what are you going to do with him?"

"I can't forgive him for you, Mary," John choked back a sob. "I've tried, and I just can't. I keep imaging him _pushing_ that woman until she shot you and I just want to…".

"Strangle him?" said Mary with a light laugh. "That's so overdone at this point, don't you think?"

"It's not funny. If he hadn't pushed her…".

Mary's expression turned sad. "Oh, John. If it hadn't been Mrs. Norbury, it would have been someone else. I never expected a long life, I just hoped for a happy one. And saving Sherlock—that's the good part of who I was. Don't make my sacrifice be for nothing by throwing a good part of your life away."

John reached toward her, his hand stopping an inch from her cheek. "I miss you _so_ much," he breathed.

Mary smiled. "I know. But Mrs. Hudson was right—you'll regret it if you have to miss him too."

Just then, Rosie began to cry, the baby monitor amplifying her voice in the room. John looked toward it and, when he looked back, Mary was gone. Sighing, John rose from his bed, then paused to pick up his phone.

"Coming, Rosie-Posie," he called. Pulling up the message app, he typed out a quick text.

 _To: Mrs. Hudson_

 _I'll take the morning shifts to watch Sherlock when he comes home from hospital. We'll keep him off the drugs._

 _xox, John_

With a slight smile ghosting over his lips, John went to see about his daughter.

Huge thanks to Ariane Devere for the TLD transcript.


End file.
